Sunwards I've Climbed
by Mrs-Stiltskin
Summary: Aurum Gold is a wealthy businessman who trades in all manner of global commodities. Belle French is a flight attendant for a small Australian airline. Neither of them expects their worlds to collide. Will they be able to pick up the pieces when they do? Warning: There will be drama, angst, non-con, violence, death


**Sunwards I've Climbed**

_**A/N: **__A long time ago, someone prompted an airline AU for Gold/Belle. Well, it took a long time to get it off the ground, so to speak, but I think I have something here that I'd like to expand on. __**Warnings:**_ _This story is going to be a little different for me. It will most likely explore a lot of character angst, including non-con/rape, graphic violence, domestic abuse, and death. I'm not going for salaciousness here, it's something I truly wish to explore on an emotional level. I promise only one thing, the ending will be hopeful and satisfying. I am not a cruel mistress. I do not believe in completely tragic endings_

_**Summary: **__Aurum Gold is a wealthy businessman who trades in all manner of global commodities. Belle French is a flight attendant for a small Australian airline. Neither of them expects their worlds to collide. Will they be able to pick up the pieces when they do?_

_**Rating:**_ _Explicit - not in this chapter, but there will be graphic scenes in later chapters. _

_Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,  
__And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;  
__Sunwards I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth  
__Of sun-split clouds – and done a thousand things  
__You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung  
__High in the sunlit silence. Hovering there,  
__I've chased the shouting wind along and flung  
__My eager craft through footless halls of air,  
__Up, up the long delirious burning blue  
__I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace,  
__Where never lark, or even eagle, flew;  
__And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod  
__The high untrespassed sanctity of space,  
__Put out my hand, and touched the face of god._

_**- High Flight **__by John Magee_

Boston to Sydney, 4:45 pm

Isabelle French sat in her jumpseat, fastening the shoulder and lap harness and settling her head back against the cool dividing wall. As many times as she flew, she'd never really gotten comfortable with takeoffs and landings. Her palms would sweat and her blood pound mercilessly in her ears as the roar of the jet engines tried ineffectually to drown out the clamour in her skull.

Even the long hours over open ocean didn't bother her so much anymore, just that moment of disbelief as something so large and heavy as a 747 heaved itself into the sky with a mighty roar. A metal tube stuffed full of humanity at it's most vulnerable moment. She didn't think it would ever cease to unnerve her. She laughed to herself when her stomach dropped into her shoes as the plane lifted into the air smoothly from the longest runway of Logan International Airport; a flight attendant who hated flying. Oh well, there were worse jobs she could have taken, and none of them would bring her home to see her Papa in Melbourne every few weeks.

Most of the time, she didn't have time to make the hop from Sydney, her turnarounds were too short, but she always made sure to take part of her time off on the Australian leg so she could make the short trip to see her Papa. He wasn't doing well these days, he hadn't really been well since her Mama had died when she was six, but now he added heart trouble to his long list of 'not well': gambling, bad business habits, drinking. She frowned thinking of all the bad decisions he'd made over the years.

It made her sad to visit him, but she knew she had to, love and duty bound up together with the guilt of moving to America to find a better life than the hardscrabble one her father had eked out in Australia. Melbourne was a lovely city, but like every city, it had a seedy underbelly, and that's where her father had ended up after her Mama had died. He wanted a better life for his daughter, Belle was sure of it, he'd just never had any idea of how to give it to her.

Belle closed her eyes, and leaned her head back, letting the lift of the plane wash over her and the constant drone of the jet engines wipe away her troublesome thoughts. Her reverie was broken by the loud 'ping' of a passenger call button. The captain had not yet cleared them to unbuckle or move about as the plane was still ascending at a steep angle.

Belle craned her neck around the end of the divider to see who was in such dire need of assistance that they had now pressed the button five times in the last thirty seconds; perhaps they were having a medical emergency. Cranky old lady was her first thought, her second was hoping to heaven the old lady wasn't having a heart attack.

When her clear, blue gaze met his deep, liquid brown, her breath caught for just a moment, a little surprised and quite amused. He most certainly was no cranky old lady, and she smiled to herself. Belle didn't think he looked ill, only cross, or possibly worried, judging by the deep lines that furrowed the bridge of his nose. She sighed, maybe he hated flying as much as she did, regardless he didn't look to be in the pleasantest of moods. Joy.

He was dressed in a dark suit, black and charcoal pinstripe, expensive and impeccably tailored and pressed. His silk pocket square and tie were a flashy shade of magenta against a deep burgundy shirt, and he held a gold handled cane across his knees that looked to be real gold and not some cheap brass imitation. His expression was dark, brows knit tight beneath a mop of long, sandy-brown hair, lips pressed together in a tight line.

"I'll be right with you, sir, as soon as the captain clears us for safety," Belle smiled at him and waved. He looked right at her and lifted his cane vertically to press the call button once again with a sharp tap, giving her a look that left no doubt he meant 'immediately if not sooner.' Belle frowned and unbuckled herself from the jumpseat. First class passengers always thought they could demand anything, even if it put her at risk of injury if the plane should have a problem or encounter turbulence.

Belle made her way to his seat, and she saw him visibly relax as she did so. "Is everything all right? May I help you, Mr…," she hesitated, glancing quickly at the crib sheet tucked in her palm, "Gold?" She was good with names, but she had been rushing this morning and hadn't had time to memorize everyone in first class as she usually did. Some she knew from memory, regulars who flew back and forth on business once or twice a month. She hadn't seen him before, she was sure of it, she'd have remembered a face like his.

"No, Miss…," his eyes taking in her name tag with a studied indifference, "...French, everything is not all right. My ankle is bothering me and I need a pillow, a blanket and a glass of scotch, neat." He leaned back and closed his dark eyes, dismissing her, only to open them again second later as Belle was turning away. "As you may have gathered, I do not like to be kept waiting," he warned her, biting off his words with a sharpness she felt was unnecessary. His fingers were gripped white-knuckled around the handle of his cane, and he closed his eyes once more, his expression taut, as if with pain.

"Yes, Mr. Gold, right away," Belle smiled brightly at him and moved efficiently, turning and reaching up to open the overhead compartment, determined not to let his sour demeanor get the better of her. She did her best with the items that slid around, their angle of ascent leveled off and the flight officer's voice came over the speakers welcoming everyone to their flight and announcing their flying time and cruising altitude.

Belle caught her balance as the items in the bin shifted again, and snatching her hand out, managed to catch a falling bag in midair before it landed on another first class passenger. She blushed, her peripheral vision catching Mr. Gold watching her, no doubt anxious for his comforts. She quickly grabbed two pillows and a blanket and snapped the bin closed.

"We have a long flight today and we hope you enjoy your flight on StarLines Australia. We'll be keeping the lights low for your sleeping comfort and advising you of our progress as we travel. _Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth, and danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings. _This is First Officer Neal Cassidy, out." The intercom clicked off.

"Here you are, Mr. Gold," Belle said pleasantly, handing him the pillows and blanket so he could make himself comfortable, "I brought you two pillows. If your ankle is bothering you, you might want to prop this underneath when you recline your seat, to take the pressure off." He looked pale and pinched as he took the items, like he hated flying even more than she did herself. "I'm getting your scotch right now, I'll be back in a moment." He gave her a curt nod, saying nothing.

Belle poured him a tumbler of the best she had aboard, and as she turned, the cabin service director, one Mr. Gerard Gaston, blocked her way. Belle frowned, "Excuse me," she gestured for him to move out of her way so she wouldn't have to brush against him as she passed.

Instead he used his bulk to press her further into the galley, "C'mon, baby, don't be like that, just a quick kiss and I'll let you get back to it?" He was posturing, trying to lay _claim_ to her, and in full view of cabin crew and passengers alike.

"Now is not the time for this," Belle bit off every word vehemently, "_Mister_ Gaston." She tried to edge past him, holding the scotch like a shield. His eyes flashed with something that felt dangerous.

"I saw the way you were flirting with that _suit_," he inclined his head toward Mr. Gold, his voice had lost its cajoling quality. He didn't hide his displeasure well. "He's old, mean and a cripple, the only reason you're flirting with him is because he's obviously an easy mark."

_Oh_. "He's none of those things, he is a first class guest though, and I was not flirting with him," Belle insisted, realizing too late to stop herself that his accusations didn't even merit an answer. "You know what? I am not doing this with you. Not here, not now." Belle squared her shoulders to face him, about to request more loudly to be allowed by without having to touch him.

"Come on, Belle, the Base Manager never needs to know you were up before Captain gave permission, or that you are golddigging the wealthy passengers." The whining, cajoling tone was back, but with an acidic edge. "A little nip into the lavatory and this will all go away." He trailed his fingers up the side of her hip and she shoved past him hard, her cheeks flaring red. Scotch splashed on his uniform and he jumped back with an angry scowl.

"Well, I suppose Head Inflight will have something to say about your breach of protocol then," Gaston snapped, swiping ineffectually at the blossoming stain.

Belle had been out with him a few times. His uncle was the Head Inflight at the Sydney hub, and he'd hinted strongly that he could and would get her fired if she didn't go out with him. Belle needed her job; her papa depended on her regular visits, he was ill and there was no way she could afford to fly back and forth to see him. And she refused to move back to Australia and the limited opportunities the had found there under the shadow of her father's failures. So, until she found a way to get around Gerry and his smarmy uncle, she'd been to dinner with him a couple times. Though she'd always managed to keep him at arm's length with a polite, "Thank you," and a smile, much to his frustration. He hadn't gotten desperate enough to demand more until today. Belle knew she wasn't the first woman at SA Gerry Gaston had treated this way, but she'd be quite happy if she was the last.

She'd agreed to meet him tomorrow night at at a bar in Sydney after they got settled at their crash pads, but at this point she really didn't want to. His quickly shifting moods frightened her, as did the glimpse of jealous anger, and frankly she just wasn't attracted to him.

Belle composed herself as best she could before she handed Mr. Gold his scotch and their eyes met. Hers were crackling with barely suppressed indignation, his reflected his irritation at what she assumed was the delay. Not to mention the fact that she felt flustered by the implication that she had been flirting with him. She had indeed noticed that he was handsome in his way, and quite dapper, his movements elegant and restrained. A gentleman. A combination that sent her stomach into somersaults when he looked at her, but she hadn't been flirting!

She nearly dumped the scotch in his lap, managing to save it at the last second and land it safely on his tray. He'd braced himself for the deluge that never materialized, looking away and closing his eyes, hands lifted in an attempt to ward off the impending disaster. She shot him a blush-tinged smile when he cracked his eyes open to find his drink and his trousers out of harm's way. He gave her a look of honest appraisal, "Impressive.".

Belle blushed a much deeper shade of red, "I'm so sorry," she began, but he brushed it off with an elegant hand gesture, looking past her.

"That man," he indicated the fuming Gaston, who was still cleaning his soiled uniform with far too much injured vigor, "his attentions are unwanted, Miss French?"

Belle looked away, wringing her hands in her skirt, "He is my supervisor."

"That isn't what I asked, Miss French," he countered. "His attentions seemed unwanted. Are they?"

She nodded, "They are. But I have been out with him a few times," she was shamefaced admitting it to a guest, but something about Gold was getting under her skin. "Perhaps I gave him the wrong idea."

"Send him to me, please." His words were calm, but there was a glint of something in his eyes and the grim set of his jaw that made her shiver.

Belle was mortified, "I can handle myself, Mr. Gold, besides I really need this job!"

He didn't take his cold eyes off his prey for an instant, his fingers drumming on the handle of his cane, "I won't ask you again, Miss French."

She hurried off to fetch Mr. Gaston, and Belle watched in fascination as Gaston approached the man with an indignant swagger that quickly disappeared. Mr. Gold spoke quietly through clenched teeth, and she watched the color drain from Gaston's face before he turned and fled behind the curtain to coach.

The grin that curled Mr. Gold's lips was nothing short of predatory. Belle gasped when his gaze fell on her, and the wolfish smile softened into something that made her stomach flutter in a decidedly pleasant way.

"Whatever did you say to him, Mr. Gold?" She asked, her astonishment plain.

He chuckled wickedly, flashing her a mischievous grin, "Never you mind, dearie."

Belle was speechless. He smiled, his features softening into something like mirth. "I fly often to check on several opal fields I own in Coober Pedy and Andamooka, and StarLines Australia is owned by someone I know only too well. Not to mention my son is the First Officer on this very flight, he was flying for Qantas up until a few weeks ago." He leaned toward her conspiratorially, "I refuse to fly unless he's on the flight deck." He smiled at that, though there was something sad behind it that she could see but didn't understand.

"In case you're wondering, the womanizing scum will be serving coach today, with a smile if he hopes to continue working for this airline," he met her eyes with a smile that had suddenly become shy, almost boyish. Color flushed his cheeks, and Belle's breath caught. He waved her off, "Back to work, dearie, we wouldn't want to give folks the wrong idea now, would we?"


End file.
